


Sincerely Yours

by Scruggzi



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), F/M, Fluff and Smut, Love Letters, Then smut, lots of smut, phrack banter, smutty ones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-07-29 06:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16258451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Phryne is on her way to London and decides she has a few things she needs to say to Jack...





	1. Dear Jack

Phryne tucked legs, clad in peach silk pyjamas, primly under the writing desk in her hotel room and extracted a fountain pen and letter paper from the drawer. She placed a clean white sheet on the blotter with a mischievous smile and uncapped her pen.

It was only that morning, mere hours ago, that Jack had kissed her. The memory of it had been toying with her all day, tempting and teasing and dancing on the edges of her nerves as she tried to concentrate on flying her plane. It was absolutely intolerable, and she was going to have to get her revenge…and if her chosen method of vengeance happened to encourage her Inspector to find his way to her side a little sooner? Well, so much the better.

_~~Hello Jack,~~ _

_~~Not a very formal start I know, I’m sure Miss Charlesworth would be horrified, not to mention Aunt P!~~ _

She looked down at the page. She was writing what she hoped would be a letter worthy of state censorship to a man whom she had been concocting illicit fantasies about for over a year and her first sentence mentioned her Aunt Prudence. Not the best start.

She screwed up the paper and started again.

_~~Dear Inspector Robinson,~~ _

_~~I hope this finds you well. Father has been nothing but a menace to my sanity since we departed. It is a pity you couldn’t have taken his seat I’m sure you would have been better company.~~ _

Good god that was even worse! What was the matter with her?

The second sheet of paper hit the waste paper basket.

She sat back in her chair and glared at the newly empty sheet in front of her. She picked up the pen. Put it down. Then got up and poured herself a glass of single malt from the bottle she’d procured upon landing. To much time in her father’s company was a definite cause for a medicinal whisky.

What did she want to say to him?

_That she missed him, already, after only hours apart. That she loved him. That the idea terrified her._

It sounded like a bad penny dreadful.

She closed her eyes and thought about the feel of his hand in her hair, the certainty in his kiss, the brush of his tongue all too fleetingly against hers. She wanted him, every part of him and she didn’t think it would ever stop. She wanted to tell him that but… Phryne opened her eyes. She was not often a woman given to introspection, preferring to move fast and hope her demons didn’t catch her up.

_She was afraid._

Well that wouldn’t do. If there was one thing Phryne Fisher was not it was a coward.

She downed her whisky and approached the lurking writing desk with the determination of a gladiator entering the arena, selected her weapon of choice and licked the nib decisively. It left a tiny spec of blue ink on her lower lip that she did not notice.

_Dearest Jack,_

_I wonder where you will be when you receive this letter. In your office I expect as I’m sending it to the station – although I wouldn’t like you to think I don’t know your home address. I am a detective after all. Perhaps I’m waiting for you to invite me in. You are ever such a private man, Jack. So full of mysteries. Every time I think I have you all worked out you present me with another puzzle, another little treasure to uncover._

_There are a few mysteries I have contemplated more and more of late, as we linger over a nightcap, or the details of a case. I’ve wondered how it would feel to slide my hands under your jacket, lean in close and kiss you._

_You really are an excellent kisser, Jack. I wonder where else I might persuade your mouth to wander._

_Do you know I once told Angela Lombard that you were eminently skilled at removing a woman’s dress with your teeth? I hope you don’t intend to make a liar out of me._

_I can’t be sure exactly where your lips might stray; perhaps my neck, my breasts? I know full well you have a prestigious appetite, and somehow, I don’t think you will be satisfied until you have tasted everything I have to offer. I hope I’m right._

_I have spent some time thinking about what you might have to offer, Jack. I didn’t really peek you know, that night you slept in my bed. Despite the temptation, I left you your underwear to preserve your modesty - so that’s another treasure I have yet to uncover, although perhaps not such a little one this time…_

_Have you ever had a woman use her mouth on you, Jack?_

_I’m never quite sure how much experience you have in the more disreputable of the sensual arts; you play the respectable man, the noble Detective Inspector, and yet there is a world of sin in your eyes sometimes and I think – this man knows exactly what he wants. I hope I’m right._

_I have thought of using my mouth on you, often. How you might taste. The sounds you would make as I run my tongue over your skin. Would you curse, whisper my name, a roaring Jack maybe? That would be delightful._

_I love to imagine what it would be like to see you abandon yourself to pleasure. You are so contained, so still, but underneath it there is an energy, something screaming to escape. I’ve dreamed of tempting you until you snapped, until you finally gave in to my teasing and bent me over your desk to have your way with me. Or laid me down beside my parlour fire and fucked me blind._

_I hope I will have the chance to experience that passion for myself._

_Come after me, Jack Robinson. I will always come back to you._

_With all my love,_

_Phryne x_

She looked down at the last lines. It had been going so well. She could just imagine the look on her Inspector’s face if he began to read her letter at the station. That frozen expression that meant he was not about to give her the satisfaction of seeing him react even whilst she was hundreds of miles away, the tiny hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth that he couldn’t quite hide – or perhaps wanted her to see.

But those last lines. She made a point of never making promises she didn’t know if she could keep. And how could she ever know if she could keep this one. Always was a long time. She wanted to keep it though, and she wanted to tell him that whatever he did, whether he came after her or not, she was coming home.

She pressed a sheet of blotting paper over the page, absorbing the surplus ink and impregnating the pink sheet with incriminating evidence that could one day be used against her. She was still afraid, but that had never stopped her before and it was not going to stop her now. Before she had time to second guess herself, the letter was sealed in an envelope and the flap stuck down. She addressed it with a flourish and rang the bell, handing it and a tip to the uniformed young man who answered the summons telling him it needed to be dispatched as a matter of urgency.

She slipped between the sheets of her hotel bed and turned out the light, tossing and turning in restless anticipation. It was late and the letter, whilst out of her hands, would not even have been posted yet, but the knowledge that it existed, out of her control and en route to Jack filled her with a nervous, restless kind of excitement and she couldn’t settle.

She sank into the memories that had been buzzing around her mind all day; Jack’s face, his lips, his hands…and let her own hands begin to wander.

She would have to make do with them, for now.


	2. A man of few words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack receives Phryne's letter and considers his response...

He didn’t open the letter in his office. It was a temptation of course; he could feel the soft crinkle of the paper where it sat, tucked carefully into his inside pocket. He fancied he could smell her perfume faintly on the envelope, taunting and teasing him, just as Miss Fisher would have done. Fortunately, Jack Robinson was a master of self-denial, and he was fairly sure that whatever the letter contained, he would rather not have an audience when he reviewed its contents.

The thought of her words resting unread, next to his heart, was a source of torment and delight throughout his long day. It fizzed through his blood as he signed a stack of arrest reports, filling him with restless, distracted energy. The anxious buzzing in his head was louder than the sound of cursing as he secured a drunken wharfie in a cell and told him to sleep it off. Her words whispered to him over the body of a Woolpacker, the casualty of a gang skirmish at the docks. Words of love, of rejection, of uncertainty, the repeal and repetition of her order: “Come after me, Jack Robinson”.

At what point had he started obeying her orders?  

They had often flirted over corpses, it was a little morbid now he thought about it, but death was in many ways his stock and trade, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret the life she brought, even into the darkest parts of his world. How was it that he missed her so much so soon? Did he dare to hope that she might feel the same, with the whole world out there at her feet?

He arrived home, drenched from the heavy rain that had coincided perfectly with his walk from the tram stop. He was bone tired, cold and with a large bruise on his upper arm, courtesy of the drunken wharfie. As soon as his coat and hat were on their respective pegs, he headed through to his bedroom and changed straight into clean pyjamas and dressing gown. His suit, shoes and socks, were left in front of the living room fire to dry.

Jack poured himself a whisky and took a seat in his favourite armchair whilst he waited for the water to heat so he could wash the day off with a bath. Phryne’s letter was in his dressing gown pocket and now that he was finally without the threat of any witnesses, he felt ready to investigate its contents.

He opened it with a thumb, tearing through the envelope; his heart beating loud in his ears, aware of his own skin and the sound of his breath as it escaped his lungs.

Relief washed over him as he read the first lines; if she intended to rescind her offer, she would have told him so immediately, she wasn’t cruel enough to toy with him. He smirked a little – _of course_ she knew where he lived. He was only surprised she’d never turned up unannounced. Or broken in. His face softened as he read on. A love letter. He wasn’t sure he had ever received one in peace time, and there had always been cruel ambivalence to Rosie’s letters in the trenches; at once a lifeline and a stark reminder of the growing distance between them.

The slow, smug smile that inched across his face was full of suggestions for places his mouth could wander, cut across by a barked laugh - _You said what to Angela Lombard? I had no idea you were that jealous!_

He swallowed hard as he realised how close to his own imaginings her musings had taken her. He imagined trailing kisses down the flawless curve of her neck, pressing his tongue into her soft flesh. God, the things he wanted to do with her. To her. The things he wanted her to do to him.

He nearly spat out his mouthful of whisky at the directness of her question about fellatio.

He swallowed the liquor carefully and allowed his hand to wander towards the tie of his pyjama trousers. It had always felt wrong, ungentlemanly, to think of Phryne as he touched himself. A dirty little secret that brought him shame, despite being fairly certain she would relish the idea that she had such an effect on him. It hadn’t stopped him before, and this letter was practically an invitation to indulge.

Fuck, the thought of her mouth on him. Of sliding into her, thrilling her, driving her to ecstasy over and over until he couldn’t hold it in any longer and… He came hard, imagining the ghost of her lips against the head of his cock, sweat beading on his brow as he caught his breath.

That woman would be the death of him.

He pulled a handkerchief from his dressing gown pocket and mopped himself up, the slightly crushed letter still clutched in his other hand. He smoothed it out, and as his eyes scanned the final lines, he could feel tears of joy prickle at their edges.

_I will always come back to you._

It was more than he had ever hoped for.

The water should be warm by now, so he rose and headed to the bathroom, Phryne’s letter safe in his dressing gown pocket once again. Tomorrow he was going to find himself a travel agent, but tonight, he had a letter to write.

He sank into the warm, welcoming bath water, dunking his head to wet his hair, which loosened a little, and he pushed it out of his eyes as he surfaced, relaxing back against the side of the tub, an indolent little smile on his face.

It was not that he was unaware of his own appeal around women - he had even been known to use it to his own advantage from time to time - and it was hardly as if Phryne had ever made a secret of finding him attractive. Nevertheless, her letter had been something of a revelation. The polite disinterest that had characterised the physical side of his marriage in its later years had hurt him in a way he had not exactly considered before. Having Phryne Fisher lay out her desire for him like that; knowing she had been fantasising about him, that she wanted him, loved him even. It was a balm for pain so routine he had forgotten it was there.

The letter itself was wonderful and also, unmistakably, a challenge. Did he dare write back to her in kind? He imagined himself at the little writing desk by his living room window putting pen to paper…

_Dear Miss Fisher,_

_Have you ever considered the multiple uses handcuffs could be put to?_

His smile broadened at the thought; perhaps not. He couldn’t really see himself confessing his more depraved desires so openly, with no idea how they might be received. Although, the idea that he might be able to shock her with a frank confession of his sins was surprisingly appealing. And then there was her letter to consider. She had given him her love and a promise to return. Not things that would have come easily; he wanted to be just as brave. He wanted to invite her in. How could he do that? What could he write to let her know how much he wanted her?

_My Darling Phryne,_

_I am writing this from my bath and wishing very much that you were here to join me…_

Better, but hardly a heartfelt confession of love. Then again, would that be the best course either, might too honest a confession of his feelings frighten her off?

He reached for the soap and began to wash, taking care to remove every trace of the day's grime, scrubbing at his bitten nails and between the gaps of his toes. The years he had spent buried in the mud and filth of the trenches had made him appreciate the luxury of being really clean. He soaped his hair, removing most of the pomade and rinsed it before rising, drying himself off with a large, soft towel and redonning his pyjamas.

He added a little more pomade to his hair and combed it, the sweet scent of beeswax overlaying the sharp, tar-like scent of his carbolic soap. He could feel the letter in his pocket, and found it weighed on him in a very different manner, now that he was familiar with the contents.

He didn’t know if either of them could possibly live up to the other’s expectations after their long dance. They had both imagined what it might be like to move in even closer, and he knew all too well the dangers of putting a woman on a pedestal whilst she was too far away to touch.

He didn’t know if pursuing Phryne was a terrible idea, a prelude to inevitable rejection and the possible loss of a partnership that had come to mean the world to him. He didn’t know if leaving Melbourne would forever ruin his reputation with the police force, or if he could be sure of his position when he returned.

He was going to do it anyway; he was going after her.

It was a leap of faith into an unknown future; terrifying, exciting and full of life in a way that was everything he had come to associate with Phryne Fisher.

His serious face in the bathroom mirror twitched once again into its wry little smile. With all that in front of him, he could hardly balk at the idea of writing a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic keeps getting longer so there might be 4 chapters now. Also doing a Jack face journey timeline to him reading Phryne's letter was legit one of the most entertaining fic experiences ever and I am going to have to do the same thing for Phryne when I work out what he wrote to her.


	3. Of like mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phryne arrives in London to find a letter from Jack waiting for her...

Phryne arrived in London along with her father after a long and frustrating train journey from Colchester, which had been considerably lengthened by a signal failure and the murder of one of her fellow passengers. The British constabulary proved no match for their Australian counterparts when it came to the detective business, although a little more awed by her rank than Jack had ever been - which had been useful. She managed to find the guilty party within only a few hours, and set off for London in a hired car, but by the time they had finally made it to her parents’ newly purchased town house she was exhausted. She still had to endure an entire formal dinner in Henry and Margaret’s company before she was able to retire for the evening and had slept like the dead from the moment her head touched the pillow.

Jack’s letter was sitting on her breakfast tray the next morning. A far more appealing prospect than toast, even when slathered with strawberry jam! They had exchanged a few telegrams during her journey, she had given him her address in London and hinted that he better get a move on before she got herself into trouble. He had expressed a certainty that trouble would find her sooner or later and said he would be there in a little over a month. However, delighted as she was by that prospect, nothing in their correspondence had really hinted at any of the things she had written in her letter. She was still not entirely certain she had not made a mistake in being so explicit, but it wasn’t as if she had ever been especially subtle in her desire for him. She supposed the tameness of his telegrams was hardly surprising, she couldn’t imagine her Detective Inspector strolling into the telegraph office and dictating deliciously obscene suggestions for ways he might use his tongue to the hapless clerk behind the desk. That was rather more her style – although she had managed to resist out of respect for his modesty.

And now here it was. The post mark suggested it had been sent shortly after she had left Melbourne, so it must have been waiting for her for some time. She waved the maid off, assuring her that she would ring the bell when she wanted her bath, and the girl had barely made it to the door before Phryne had torn the letter open to feast greedily upon the contents.

_Dear Phryne,_

_I hope you will not be too disappointed to learn that I resisted the temptation to open your letter at the station._

“Spoilsport,” she laughed, he knew her too well.

_A good thing too, the contents were far more stimulating than any indecent publication I have ever been forced to confiscate. Had I been on duty I might have found myself with a new prime suspect in the distribution of contraband literature. Perhaps I should consider packing a pair of darbys on my trip to England. Just in case. I’m sure your fanciful imagination will come up with a use for them._

Phryne actually gasped aloud, her face radiating pure, scandalised delight. Had Jack Robinson really just suggested she think up illicit uses for his handcuffs? It was a subject she had already given considerable thought, and she made a mental note to ask around until she found a hotel with the right kind of bed frames. She had to read the paragraph through several times just to be sure; thoughts of her bound fast, Jack’s head between her thighs as he fucked her with tongue and fingers kept intruding on her consciousness making is very difficult to concentrate on the rest of the letter.

It was worth the effort.

_I can’t regret the decision to delay my gratification until I was alone, and able to fully indulge myself without any witnesses to see me blush._

Phryne bit her lip at the thought of Jack ‘indulging himself’ as he read her words and thought of her. His broad fingers firm and tight around a long, thick cock she had seen outlined once against the cotton of his undershorts. She hadn’t peeked, but she hadn’t looked away either, and there had been plenty there to whet her appetite. 

_I lay in my bath composing possible responses, wishing you were there with me; I imagined I could taste the salt of your skin as I kissed the nape of your neck. You would sigh and shiver, then turn your head to kiss me, press your tongue between my lips to drive me on, tempting me to lose control. I think I could resist, if it meant prolonging our pleasure, and I can imagine no greater pleasure than seeing you come in my arms._

Her breath caught, and she felt desire pool, hot and heavy between her legs. She had half expected an amused reprimand, a ‘wait and see’ or ‘perhaps another time’, and this was…his words were somehow managing to render her speechless even within her own head. She could almost feel his lips against her skin, which erupted into gooseflesh at the thought. She shivered, licking her lips as she read on.

_I would cup handfuls of water to warm the skin of your chest, your belly; letting one hand linger on your breasts as the other slipped beneath the water, between your thighs._

Her hand slid under the hem of her nightgown, slowly circling the swollen nub of her clitoris, imaging it was Jack’s hand, trying to conjure the taste of his lips on hers.

_I have spent far more time than a gentleman should have thinking of ways to satisfy you, Phryne Fisher. I promise, you have not overestimated my appetites, and I hope you will be willing to indulge me next time we meet._

A little sigh, high-pitched and desperate escaped her lips. Oh yes, she would be willing to indulge him. She meant to have this man in every way imaginable.

_There have been nights where I have been unable to sleep, possessed by thoughts of you. What it would feel like to run my hands up your thighs, part the petals of your sex and bury my tongue inside you, how you would taste, the sounds you would make as you came._

She set the letter aside, closed her eyes and used both hands to toy with her hot, wet flesh. She imagined she could feel the heat of his mouth, the thrust of his tongue inside her, then his fingers, the relentless pounding of his cock. She came alone with his name on her lips, wishing more than anything that she could conjure him to her side at once.

She picked up the letter once more and read the final paragraph.

_I want to explore every part of you, to give you thrill after thrill after thrill, make love to you over and over until you are utterly sated, and we can fall asleep in each other’s arms. I want to invite you in, my love. To my home, my bed, and my heart for as long as you wish to stay._

_I am coming after you, as fast as I can._

_Yours,_

_Jack xx_

“Oh, Jack.” She whispered, not sure she would ever have the words to express the fullness in her heart. 

She placed the letter back in its envelope and poured herself a cup of tea, considering her next move. Jack would be here within weeks; his ship would already be close to the Suez Canal by this point.

How long would it take to make it to Suez by plane?

She took a decisive bite of toast and grinned. The canal was supposed to be a marvel of engineering and her voyage to Melbourne had taken the scenic route around the Cape of Good Hope instead. Clearly the situation needed to be rectified and a little adventure was in order. And if that adventure happened to speed up her rendezvous with a certain, handsome policeman…well, so much the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this could use a reunion chapter, just to round it off. Incidentally 'thrill' or 'give someone a thrill' is a 1920s synonym for orgasm that I really like and I want to bring it back!


	4. Sincerely Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter ended up being more than twice as long as the others but phrack had a lot of stuff to get out of their systems! Thanks to hismissus, firesign23 and genee27 for all your help.

Despite the ever-present tension that was the absence of Phryne and the uncertainty about what would come next for them, Jack had been enjoying his voyage a great deal. It had been a long time since he had last had a real holiday and just the experience of being Jack, rather than Inspector Robinson, had a pleasing kind of novelty to it.

He made a point of getting off the ship to explore and stretch his legs at every port they passed, knowing he might never get another opportunity to see this much of the world. Wandering through exotic bazaars, smelling the mingled scents of spices and humanity, bathing in the Babylonian cacophony of voices speaking words he could not understand – it was all a marvellous adventure, not to mention a welcome distraction. It might be too late to change his mind, but that did not stop the stream of ‘what ifs’ from churning around in it.

He hoped that exhausting his body would help him sleep, so he had spent his days at sea in the salt water pool and at the tennis court, where he was lucky to find a number of challenging opponents. It was no use. His nights were spent tossing and turning in his stuffy little cabin, his mind in overdrive, taunting him with images of Phryne, of what she might expect from him when they met.

Quite aside from the possibility that he was careening full speed towards a heartbreak from which he might never recover, there were a few more immediate, practical considerations that, as the moment of their reunion drew closer, began to trouble him more and more. He had felt so pleased with himself, posting that letter; the thought of Phryne’s face, shocked and surprised, and – he hoped – pleased at his frank confession of his desires, had filled him with a bubbling excitement he was quite unfamiliar with. But with time, doubt had started to creep in.

It had been a long time - it shocked him to count the years – six of them at least - since he had been physically intimate with anyone other than himself. His relationship with Rosie had decayed from passion to politeness over such a long period, so much of it rote and routine, punctuated occasionally with screaming arguments that left scars no-one but they could see. He could not remember the last time they had made love and the realisation shocked him. Surely it should have held some poignancy, sat in a bittersweet place in his heart to torment him as so many of his failures did. But there was nothing, just an empty space where logic said it should have been.

And what had his letter led Phryne to expect? Some lothario that would sweep her into his arms at the dock and bed her with the expertise she was no doubt used to? It was not that any of the things he had written were necessarily beyond his capabilities as a lover, he simply didn’t know how he might react to the act, or acts when it came to it. He had smirked and flirted for years – and not only with Phryne - behind the safety of wedding bands that were both lifebelt and lie, keeping him away from any dangerous intimacy.

He was afraid. But he was not about to let that stop him. Not any-more.

***

Phryne arranged herself carefully on a set of packing crates which gave her a good view of Jack’s ship as it came into port at Suez. From here she could see the deck, the passengers waiting to disembark, the crew shouting orders. She screwed up her eyes to try and make out the one face within the maelstrom that she wanted to see.

She was dressed in red and white, the better to be seen against the sun-bleached stone of the dock, and Jack spotted her from the deck as soon as he came out to watch the ship come in to port. He stared, his face breaking into a slow, adoring smile. She hadn’t seen him, he didn’t think. He had bought a light linen suit for the warmer portion of his journey and with the matching panama hat - cream coloured with a dark hatband - he felt practically in disguise.

She was here. She knew he would be here, and she had come to surprise him. She had no luggage that he could see. Jack marshalled the smile that threatened to undermine a long-cultivated reputation for stoicism. Perhaps they could surprise each other. He was practically skipping as he headed down the gangplank, battered leather suitcase in hand.

***

The period of time from the moment their eyes met to the close of the hotel room door behind them seemed to be at once an eternity and over in a moment. An all too chaste kiss at the docks had raised a half-hearted wolf whistle from a passing sailor that neither of them noticed. There had been a mad dash in a taxi through the streets of Suez, a casual introduction as ‘Mr Fisher-Robinson’ to the hotel concierge which broadened Jack’s smile still further.

The door clicked shut behind them and time returned in a rush, like air sucked into a vacuum. A hum of nervous tension still prickled over Jack’s skin, but it was being combined and eclipsed by excitement. He wanted this, and by the look in her eyes there was no doubting that Phryne wanted it too.

“I got your letter.” She whispered.

She was standing very close. There was a time when Jack might have said too close, but the idea that she could be too close seemed long ago and far away, an insanity he was thankfully well cured of.

“I think I know yours by heart.” He breathed into her lips, dropping soft kisses along her jaw.

Now that the moment was here, all of his anxiety seemed to have vanished and he was no longer afraid, he was elated. She was his world and she was here, and she had come for him. He was going to do everything he could to show her how much that meant to him. He was not going to let fear hold him back.

“Tell me your favourite part.” She teased, delighted to hear her words had been so well received.

Her hands had dislodged his hat and she was enjoying finally having the privilege of running her fingers through his neatly combed hair. Jack’s kisses were quickly becoming addictive and she was visited, not for the first time, by the galling possibility that she might never want to kiss anyone else again. 

“Can’t you guess?” he teased right back, not wanting to give in too easily to her demands.

She slid her hands under his jacket and pushed it from his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him again, recognising the invitation to act out any portion of their correspondence that took her fancy.

“Was it that part?” she asked, knowing it would not be.

There was a coy sparkle in her eyes, giddy and so full of life. God, he had missed her. Jack shook his head slightly, knowing she was toying with him but enjoying the sport. His jacket hit the floor with a soft whump and for good measure he stripped out of the light woollen vest he wore in place of his usual waistcoat.

“Guess again.”

She turned her back to him, pirouetting in his arms to present the nape of her neck, the silky strings of her crisp, white halter-neck dress were a mouth-watering temptation.

“I could never in good conscience make a liar out of you, Miss Fisher.” He murmured, clasping one end of the tie between his teeth and tugging it free.

The last little tangle of the knot required him to use his tongue and he ran it mercilessly along her upper vertebrae as he freed her from the straps of the dress. The deep moan she let out as he did so went straight to his cock, which was already straining against his neatly pressed trousers. The light summer dress wafted down to the floor, leaving Phryne in stockings, tap pants and very little else. She threaded her fingers through his, pressing her buttocks into his erection as she moved his hands up to mould them over her breasts.

“Next time, we are trying this in the bath.” He whispered into her ear.

Phryne hummed her approval at this suggestion and in keeping with the spirit of his letter, began to encourage him to move lower, keeping her hand on his as it slipped beneath the silk of her underwear.

Her wiliness to let him know what she wanted was enough to ease any lingering anxiety about his ability to please her, and he felt again that long forgotten feeling of being wanted, desired. He had forgotten how truly good it felt to be the cause of another person’s pleasure, and now his arms were full of Phryne. They were moving, pulsing together, sharing that synchronicity of mind they had forged so early in their friendship in a closer dance; nothing his imagination had ever conjured had prepared him for this.

Phryne was writhing against Jack’s fingers, her hands stroking the back of his, so she could relish in the feeling of Jack Robinson, finally touching her. She loved his hands, those broad fingers, never still, nimble and dexterous, filled in equal measure with gentleness and strength. She moaned his name as he slid two inside of her, pulling out to tease her with light rapid strokes that felt so unbearably good she couldn’t help holding his hand fast to keep him there.

Another time, Jack promised himself, he would prolong this part, would build her up and up, then let her come down just enough to keep her hovering on the edge until till she begged for more. Not today. Right now, he didn’t want to play at holding back. He wanted to give her everything.

Phryne came for the first time in Jack’s arms, her muscles locking then releasing as the orgasm overtook her. She was surprised to find a lump in her throat. For all her teasing seduction via the international postal service, she had still been holding back. She should have known the coyness and flirtation she had deployed to safeguard her heart would not be proof against this intimacy. Phryne well understood the power of sex, its danger, it was in many ways her weapon of choice. She understood the ways a lover could touch so much more than your skin if you let them do it, and he had her now, all the way down to the marrow. Well if she was going to fall this hard she was not about to do it alone.

Her head tilted languidly back to capture Jack’s mouth, he was still wearing his shirt and trousers which seemed an unpardonable oversight, so she turned a little unsteadily and began unbuttoning him, dispensing swiftly with shirt and vest, delighting in the new topography she had revealed.

“Mmmm, treasure after treasure, Jack. Let’s see what else I can uncover.”

The faux solemnity in her expression drew an honest laugh from him, her joy was contagious and her refusal to be serious even now helped set him further at his ease. She knelt before him, her hands stroking along his buttocks and thighs as she slid down towards her prize. Once in position she took the opportunity to remove her shoes, maintaining eye contact as she did so. He looked eager, excited and utterly in love. She imagined she must look much the same.

Her hands reached for his belt - “a little less formal than usual, Jack. I rather like it,”- and removed it in one swift movement and a whip-crack swish of leather on fabric that gave both of them _ideas_. Jack tried not to think too hard about where she might have learned to do that and was saved from the burden of an overactive imagination when she began to stroke his erection through the fabric of his shorts. He gave an appreciative gasp as she found her way inside his underwear.

Phryne was something of an aficionado when it came to the finer parts of a man’s anatomy and considered her tastes to be refined yet admirably versatile. There was so much to appreciate; length and width of course, although size was no guarantee of pleasure - a large cock used poorly could be very uncomfortable. The sensitivity of the skin, the colour, taste, texture were all things which should be considered and there were so many potentially delicious combinations.

She had begun idly wondering what Jack had been hiding under his neatly cut suit at their very first meeting and her curiosity had increased exponentially over the course of their partnership. She was delighted when his cock turned out to be almost exactly like the man himself; respectable but not ostentations and leaning slightly askew. Perhaps she should put it in a blue wool suit and tie or find it a convenient mantelpiece! The image was so entertaining she had to bite down a strong urge to laugh, although she fully intended to present the suggestion to him later. For now, there were more important things to concern herself with - like getting that gorgeous thing in her mouth.

She pulled his trousers and smalls down in one go, letting him lift his legs to step out of them as her hands caressed the firm muscles of his arse. Her eyes widened, delighted at the sight of him, finally fully bared to her hungry gaze. She ghosted her breath against his hardened flesh, watching his face consumed with unabashed _want_ in a manner she had never seen before.

“Am I getting warmer, Jack?”

He had almost forgotten about her letter and it took him a moment to parse the question and Phryne found the slightly befuddled expression, as he tried to keep up, incredibly endearing. When he spoke, however, it was to up the anti.

“Warmer maybe, but you’re not there yet. Although if you want to move over to the bed, I could show you a favourite part of _my_ letter at the same time?”

He could hardly believe he had actually said that out loud, but as Phryne’s eyes had widened and she was practically dragging him across the room, he elected not to regret the impulse. By the time she had pushed him down onto the soft mattress and straddled him, her hands still busily exploring every inch of his skin, he had forgotten the fantasy had ever brought him shame.

She was still wearing her silk tap pants and the sensation of the material against his throbbing cock was exquisite. He placed a hand on the small of her back, his thumb stroking her hip as he leaned up to kiss her, a demanding, hungry kiss that left them both panting and craving more. When they broke apart he gave her a sly grin and made a circular motion with his hand, indicating she should turn herself around. He was still not sure where he had found the gall to suggest this – he had certainly never done so before – but her response of instant and enthusiastic obedience suggested that both of them might be straying from their comfort zones today.

Phryne stripped off her knickers, stockings and garters with far less care than usual and flung them away, pausing only to blow Jack a kiss before positioning herself astride his chest, letting her hands explore the well-developed topography of his belly and thighs before returning to stroke lovingly along his cock. She bent her head to take it in her mouth, sucking and licking and tracing little patterns along the thick length with her tongue. When she felt Jack’s lips dropping kisses along her thighs, she smiled and began to flick the point of her tongue against his head. When he began to imitate her, she moaned, and dug her nails into his thighs.

Jack did not consider himself to be the most worldly or adventurous man in the bedroom, but he had always enjoyed the act of pleasuring a woman with his mouth. There was something about this intimacy, the way it focused all of his senses, kept his mind quiet and allowed sensation to flow from him and through him. Phryne was everywhere; dominating taste, and touch, he could see every detail of her perfect cunt and the scent of her desire was richer than any perfume. The sounds she made, as he lapped at her, reverberated along his cock, filling his world.

He let her movements set the pace at first, letting her show him what she needed even as she focused her attentions on him. Then she began a circular motion of her tongue, swirling around his head, followed by slow, wet suction that took him inside until he could feel the back of her throat against his tip. He realised that if he wanted to see her come again, before he spent himself so hard he passed out, he was going to have to work a little harder. He began to tease her clit with swift, soft motions of his tongue, using his fingers to stroke her inner walls over and over until he could feel her thighs shaking around his ears.

Phryne gasped around Jack’s cock as she felt his fingers breach her once again. Waves of pleasure rose and crashed over her, obliterating all conscious thought, the world around her dissolving in a sea of perfect sensation and inescapable bliss. She was still working Jack’s cock haphazardly with one hand but took her mouth away as a scream of ecstasy forced its way past her lips. She could feel Jack groan against her sex as the warm Suez air made unexpected contact with his wet cock and the vibration felt divine. _Damn that man was good with his mouth._

She mewled in protest as he removed his fingers and rolled her gently to the bed, but when his lips met hers again and she felt him come to rest between her parted thighs, she responded at once by wrapping her legs around his hips and guiding him inside her. He felt wonderful, her orgasm had yet to fully subside and the stretch of her flesh around him ratcheted up her pleasure once again as she breathed his name against his lips and urged him to move.

And then she saw it, a sight she had fantasised about for so many months: Jack Robinson undone, lost to the world, no longer chasing her pleasure but theirs as he allowed himself to be overcome by passion. That passion she had always sensed in him, it trembled so close to the surface of his stoic exterior that at times she could practically taste it. It did not disappoint.

Jack had been determined that this first of what he hoped would be many, many intimate encounters between them would be all about Phryne. He wanted to show her that he could be what she needed, to let her in, to let her see the man beneath the blue wool suit; a man who loved and wanted her, craved her beyond all reason. Now he was finally here, inside her and every inch of his skin was aflame. There was no room for planning or strategy, only unvarnished need as he kissed her, wet and clumsily and fucked her through the final trembling peaks of her climax. The words of love that escaped him as he came were muffled by the skin of her neck. Her response echoed softly in his ears, her arms and legs, gripping him tight as he softened inside her.

_“I love you too.”_

Phryne was grateful that he did not dwell on the matter, those dangerous words had slipped out all too easily through sated lips. But she always tried to lie as little as possible, and there were some truths that simply could not be denied.

Eventually she slackened her grip and allowed him to roll onto his back, compensating for the loss by snuggling close into his shoulder. She was making contented little noises which Jack found utterly adorable – not a word he generally associated with Phryne Fisher. As the world slowly seeped back in, he began to take a little more notice of his surroundings. The bed was soft and sumptuous, made with fine white linens and boasting an enormous pile of pillows. Unfortunately, they were stacked up by the headboard which seemed oddly far away. Jack made a spirited attempt to comment wryly on this discovery, but his post coital brain had not quite recovered and what came out was.

“The bed seems to be upside-down.”

Phryne giggled at him, another unexpected and welcome development.

“So, it is. I shall have to put in a complaint with the concierge.”

She tugged on his hand and they rearranged themselves clumsily under the covers, face to face on what turned out to be very comfortable pillows, smiling conspiratorially and unable to stop touching each other.

“I never did guess your favourite part of my letter,” Phryne observed.

“You know it though.”

She nodded, it had never really been in question. Fun as the more salacious parts of that letter had been, they had effectively been little more than gaudy wrapping paper for the adieu. _I will always come back to you._ She had known what that would mean to him when she put pen to paper and yet she still had. Had been unable to stop herself.

“I never asked for any promises from you Phryne.”

“And I never make any I don’t intend to keep; you’ll find me much harder to get out of your bed than off of your crime scenes.”

He laughed, full and rich, a delightful sound.

“Which has so far proved nigh on impossible, but I’m sure I’ll find a way to cope.” His hand on her arse gave an appreciative squeeze.

“Well you’ve gotten off to a marvellous start. I always suspected you were a dark horse in the boudoir.”

“Glad to see I didn’t disappoint.”

His nonchalance and self-depreciation didn’t fool her for a second, and when she answered it was with uncharacteristic sincerity.

“Never.”

She whispered the word against his lips as she kissed him, slowly, relishing this reward for their bravery. There were worse things after all than to love a good man, she was just going to have to keep him.

“Thank you, Jack. Thank you, for inviting me in.”


End file.
